Garage Talk

[Wiz Khalifa]

Uh

I just got the fuck off a plane

6 car garage, I got more than 1 job

Be a boss, go hard

Wake up, smelling kush when I yawn

Shorty wanna fuck with the king, tired of them pawns

Ain't on the top? Well, that's nonsense

Bank account full of G's, so that's all you gon' get

TSA know my face so they don't trip

Chain frost, big bitch that I'm with don't give me no lip

We done touch M's, now we on to billions

Hard to explain how these new rugs feeling

Blow my kush up in high ceiling's

Having meetings at the crib, confidential dealings

And I ain't gotta tell you who the realest is

That's my nigga Spitta, foreign cooked chef

And where the kitchen is

Money straight where my business is

And the girls fuck with me so I'm always where the bitches is

Kid

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

I see all the sexy mami's in here

Hey, ayy, Wiz I smell you up here, too

Make sure you pass that KK to the DJ booth

Aw shit, here comes Spitta on them gold BBS

[Curren$y]

Yep, swung through, gold BBS and the spoiler kit

1986, slinging that shit

They want the family price on them bricks

But I just had a son and I only love him

So I ain't coming down on the price

Ain't no where else you gon' get shit this nice

Got cocaine white, Air Force Nikes

Bought K-Swisses for all my bitches

Put hightop troops on all my shooters

Bought the Goose down jacket from the booster

Shootouts on the roof, racing in them coupes

She wore the Gucci frames with the door knocker hoops

And the lying motherfucker tell you I ain't the truth

Rich uncle come through, pop the truck, pull the duffel

Lay the merchandise out, get the loot, motherfucker

East side real nigga, show ya how to hustle

Outside, put the fucking Chevrolet's on the bumper

If it don't hop, nigga, park that shit

That ain't no low rider, thats a rollin' imposter

Put the stocks on fool, quit playing like you out here

2009, all kind of high

How Fly had fools on the moon trying to drive

Its a stoned duo, solid gold jewel though

Kicked the fuck out that game and now she won't go

Ladies, if you ain't go your own drinks, you gotta get out the section

You heard my man Spitta

Fellas, raise your glasses

Tip your bartenders

And make sure you take that nigga bitch

We bout to ride out

Jet Life, Taylor Gang, ow